Otto, our now 11-week-old puppy, was sick last week, with some kind of rash on his neck and a vomiting problem. We feed him healthy dog food that comes from a reputable store, yet he still insists on eating leaves, sticks, feces and winged insects in the backyard. I get it, he’s a dog, and there’s not much you can do about his dietary predilections. “Don’t eat that bee!”, for example, proved to be ineffective.

But Scarlett was really grossed out by his throwing up. “IF I hear him making that sound one more time like this,” she announced, making a gagging sound herself, “I will completely lose it.”

I don’t think I talk like that. In fact, I often suspect she gets most of her vocabulary and phrasing from the books that we read. But per-haps her dramatic flair and penchant for hyperbole do come from me. My husband is a pretty calm person. You can make him mad (and, in case anyone is curious, I know exactly how to do that), but for the most part he’s even-keeled and takes things in stride. Thus far, those qualities do not seem to have rubbed off on our daughter.

“I’m mad at you,” she’ll inform me, after watching two episodes of the Care Bears on our giant TV. “You never let me have anything, and this behavior is unacceptable.” This is because I said no to gum. Read More>